


Splitting Hairs

by temporalDecay



Series: distrait shorts [12]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/pseuds/temporalDecay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eridan is dumb and Equius is dumber, but it's okay because they wouldn't hate each other otherwise.</p>
<p>Includes hair dye shenanigans and Eridan making stupid life choices. You know, as usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splitting Hairs

“ _What_.” 

You squint at Equius over the rim of the ridiculously nice and underused bathtub he has in his private ablution chamber, dutifully ignoring the way your hair is plastered down the side of your face and down your neck. You also politely choose to cling to your outrage and glower somewhat threateningly, instead of going with your first option to ogle that pretty, pretty ass you’re so blessedly familiar with, as the mountain of muscled stupid goes about brushing his hair. 

“It’s immature and utmost uncouth for even someone with your dubious standing,” he mutters, without quite as much conviction as before, because Equius is always endearingly stupid about your appearance but he’s never really gotten the hang of actually demanding things instead of just awkwardly muttering about it. “You should have outgrown the habit in the academy, if anything.” 

“Eq. Equius,” you say, barely resisting the urge to laugh, “I don’t actually dye my hair.” 

There’s a long, awkward silence that blankets the block. 

“Oh,” he says, blushing furiously and instantly drenching himself in sweat. 

“You fucking stupid hateful idiot,” you sigh fondly, folding your arms over the rim of the tub and smiling at him lazily, “you’ve known me for how long now? And you never fucking noticed the stripe is natural? I’m fucking offended, Zahhak. Spade-fucking-broken, even.” 

Equius proceeds to slink out of the room with his metaphorical tail between his legs, so you do the only thing left to you and laugh until you hiccup. 

  


* * *

  


The idea occurs to you, oddly enough, when you’re tongue deep inside Equius’ nook. Admittedly, you’re often too busy thinking of sex to think about anything else, particularly when sex is actually happening, but Equius keeps petting your hair and sliding his fingers along the edge of the violet stripe with enough insistence that you know he’s thinking about it instead of what you’re doing. And that’s unacceptable. So you set out to wreck his stupid, one-track mind out of his goddamn thick skull, slurping as loudly and lewdly as you can manage. 

“Look, I know I’m pretty and the hair is fabulous,” you say, one hand holding onto his bulge hard enough to be a threat, as you wipe off your mouth with the back of the other. Equius starts dripping harder, in response to your touch, and you grin at him with all your teeth, counting every drop of sweat as separate victory each. “But if you’re gonna be too busy fretting about my hair to care about the fact I’m giving you head, I’ll go out there and _find_ someone else to give head to.” 

You empty your airsacks in a giggling _ooph!_ then, when he shoves you onto his desk in a surprisingly fluid movement. That means you don’t have air to make a sound with, when he shoves his bulge into your nook in a sharp, unforgiving thrust. He’s got a hand in your hair, though, and that makes you want to laugh, even though he’s plowing you into the desk hard enough you think something – the desk or you – is going to break before he’s done. You find your kismesis’ possessive nature and his constant attempts to stake a claim on you rather endearing all things considered, which is why you go out of your way to imply things that make his blood boil with outrage and jealousy. Not that you’d ever let the stupid mountain of inbred hatefulness know you like it when he goes irrational about this, because that’d spoil the fun and give him something to use against you in the long run. 

But it’s nice, to hold power over someone like that, and be constantly reminded that they care. It’s very different to how you feel about Karkat’s jealousy, too. You’d never go out of your way to try and make Karkat jealous, because you’d rather cut off a hand than make your matesprit upset on purpose. But part of you can’t help but push at Equius’ buttons just to see how he’ll react. And part of you can’t help but feel he’ll realize who and what you are, one day, and decide it’s not worth it, because you’re self-destructive like that. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” you purr in between ragged gasps, nook stretched to the limit and body bent in such a way you can see his goddamn bulge denting your gut, and the absolute shitfuck knows what the sight _does_ to you, “I’m just another wet hole for you to fuck, is that it? Another—“ 

He licks your gills. 

When you are yourself again, instead of a raw, abused, troll-shaped nerve ending, you’re slumped on the desk, dripping violet onto the floor and feeling the lips of your nook throb in time with your heartbeat. One day, you promise yourself you’ll stop finding Equius’ tendency to deny you the fucking basic right to a pail so blisteringly fucking hot, but that day hasn’t arrived yet. Mostly because you’ve been doing this long enough he’s given up the pretense it’s accidental and the sight of prim and proper Equius Anal Retentiveness Incarnated Zahhak licking your slurry off his fingers will never not make you writhe. 

You let him pick you up without a fuss, because you actually like how he goes about cleaning up the mess you made and he could fuck you up so bad, afterward, but he won’t, and the certainty sits warm and fuzzy under your rubs, threatening to make you purr. He’s halfway done rinsing your hair in the ablution trap when you gather enough wits to make a very untoward remark. He fucks you up against the wall and you go loose-limbed and pliant under the assault, whining needily even though everything keeps threatening to go on strike after each lash of his bulge reverberating deep inside your core. 

You fall asleep curled up against his side, a heavy arm pinning you down in place, when he refuses to let you go back to your borrowed block for the day. 

  


* * *

  


“I don’t want to know,” Russel says, deadpan and unamused, utterly unmoved by the displays of affection you keep on piling on him, just because you like starting rumors aboard the _Morrigan_ and you’re a dick. 

“Are you sure?” You grin at him, not quite leaning on his side as you peer at his tablet and watch his fingers work magic on it, “I’d have thought you’d be interested in the view.” You smile innocently. “He’s hot when he begs.” 

“ _I_ wouldn’t make him beg,” Russel replies casually, not even bothering to look at you. 

You _remember_ that tone; it makes everything raw and bruised between your legs throb wetly on reflex. You cover it up with a very ineffectual laugh that makes the greenblood give you an innocent smile. No, Russel wouldn’t make Equius beg at all. Russel would tear down your kismesis and set the remains on fire with a grin. Jealousy is an emotion that seldom visits you, when you’re around the man, but sometimes you wish you had his knack to destroy people so efficiently, because maybe then you’d be the sort of kismesis Equius actually deserves. 

Instead of, well, you. 

“You’re sulking,” Russel points out with a frown, and you blink and take a moment to realize he’s right. He rolls his eyes with a flourish and shoves his tablet into your hands. “Go terrorize the fucking hangar crew until you stop oozing wistful black at my feet, it’s gross.” 

You do the certifiably mature thing and stick your tongue out at him, before sauntering over to put the fear of you in a couple numbskulled twits. 

  


* * *

  


“Was gonna dye your hair in your sleep,” you say, tongue stumbling on the words and your fangs as you lean your chin on your folded arms and look up at Equius with a wry smirk. “Prank you good as hell, just ‘cause you’re a jerk.” 

“You’re drunk,” Equius replies, lips pursed into that fucking delicious disapproval line that you fucking hate so much, and it makes you grin like a loon because you’re the only one who gets to put that expression on his face. 

“The drunkestest,” you giggle, toasting at him with the empty glass in your hand and then hoot a little when he pulls you off the chair before you can slam face-first into the floor. You don’t mind him holding you up like that, because you’ve spent the better part of three hours fighting gravity and you’re done trying to keep your balance. “Can we just follow the porn script on this one? You gotta have watched this one, right? ‘cause at this point a good fuck is all I want for my wriggling day.” 

Equius splutters gloriously and lets you go for a second but then holds you up again when you sway on your feet. He scoffs and it does nothing to hide the furious blush on his face, and you’re choking on another giggling fit again. 

“Tonight is not your wriggling day,” he says, stern and obnoxious and all you really want is to kiss him with all the teeth you have, and you have _a lot_ of teeth. Equius pauses a moment, as if thinking the statement over and you decide you might as well reach out and nuzzle against him because he fucking loathes it when you do and you might or might not be dripping inside your pants. “…tonight _is_ your wriggling day.” He sounds like he can’t decide if he should smack you or himself first. 

“Yay,” you say, helpfully, trying to wiggle your eyebrows at him and only succeeding in somehow making your glasses slide down your nose. “Now, about that wriggling sex? Sex day. _Wriggling day sex_.” 

“Eridan,” he hisses, putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you away, which is the opposite of anything you want and makes you stick out your lower lip in the mightiest pout you can manage. Equius looks depressingly unimpressed. “You’re _drunk_.” 

“Can still give head,” you insist, grinning, which in retrospect might not be the smartest course of action, given that puts all your teeth in display, and your teeth are mostly crooked fangs. “Or something.” 

Equius says something else – something boring and stupid, probably – but you’re not quite conscious by then, and then next thing you know is that you’re lying in slime and purring for no adequate reason at all. 

  


* * *

  


“I’m dying,” you whine, taking a break from your heartfelt prayers to the load gaper gods. 

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Equius retorts, the unrepentant jerkfuck, and you’d let him know what you think, except your gastric sack wants to make really, really sure there’s nothing left in it anymore. “Even beyond the usual stupidity behind your actions, you’re not a grub, Eridan, drinking so much on your own was rather foolish.” 

“Oh god, can we put the lecture on hold until my innards stop trying to spill themselves on the floor?” You lean against the wall, boneless and pliant, feeling your gut start to settle down. “Maybe put it up indefinitely? You’re not my fucking lusus and I’m really not hurting for one.” 

He goes about manhandling you back into the ablution trap, regardless, and you hiss and spit until he starts washing your hair and your treacherous throat lets out a loud purr. You try to drag him in with you, but he tilts his head away from your mouth and you remember you probably shouldn’t try to kiss him without washing your teeth first. It makes you laugh, for some reason, and that’s enough distraction for him to wrap a ridiculously huge towel around your shoulders. 

“You still haven’t told me what possessed you to drink yourself nearly into a coma,” he points out, as subtle as a heard of hornbeasts stomping down a field, rubbing you dry and looking somewhat constipated. 

You feel like telling him it’s none of his business, but you’re also feeling self-destructive and dumb and like sabotaging your own damn relationships, because that’s what you always do. 

“Nothing,” you say, and Equius’ hands go still at your shoulders, “I was thinking dumb shit.” 

More specifically of that one wriggling day of yours, eons ago, locked up inside a too bright cell, death hanging above your head. You were thinking about all the stupid things you’ve ever done and having a particularly clear-headed moment to remember how far down you fell and how sometimes it doesn’t feel you crawled back up, but instead found an alternate route to somewhere else, and made yourself comfortable there. Knowing who you know, loving who you love, you think you should know better than to feel anything other than insignificant. And still sometimes, you’re assaulted by the thought it’s not fair, even though you know, now, that you deserved it anyway. 

Equius pulls you close and you let him, going as far as to wrap your arms around his shoulders when he leans in to rest his forehead in your neck. 

“I find it hard to believe,” he says after a moment, soft and tentative, “that Vantas or your Helmsman would let you spend your wriggling day with me.” 

“Psii doesn’t keep track of time.” You shrug, fingering Equius’ hair at the nape of his neck. You let out a soft laugh. “Karkat forgot, probably. So did you,” you add, somewhat spitefully, before Equius can say something unfortunate. “’s okay, you’re both busy with important shit. It's not a big deal, I never celebrate anymore.” 

If anyone had told you, sweeps ago, that you’d find yourself hugging the stupid away with Equius fucking Zahhak, and instead of being awkward or too drawn out, you’d find the gesture comforting, you’d have laughed in their faces. But still, here you are, still hugging the mountain of inbred idiocy because he’s worse at words and feelings than you’ll ever be. And that’s a fucking achievement right there. 

“What color?” He asks, suddenly enough you know he’s derailing but not quite sure where he’s going. You make an inquiring noise, instead of a disappointed one, when he pulls back enough to look at your face again. “What color were you planning on dyeing my hair?” 

You grin at him, lopsided. 

“Don’t put yourself at my mercy, Zahhak,” you say, contradicting yourself with the gentle way you push the strands of glossy, thick hair off his face. “I have none for you.” 

He flusters easily, and that helps you forget and forgive him for being sweet. 

  


* * *

  


He looks rather dashing, all things considered. 

It would be better if the dye weren’t so bright, but you didn’t want to risk fucking up so you only asked Russel for a bottle of the temporary stuff. It feels like a mark of ownership of your own, and the thought does strange things to your insides when you think about it. Instead you finger the bright blue strands and pretend real hard you’re not contemplating moving onto fondling his horns instead. 

“You could stay here,” he says, after a while, “with me. If you want.” 

The dumbest thing is that you actually consider it, before burying your face into his hair. You don’t even care if it’s getting damp with sweat already. 

“I’d drive you crazy within a shift,” you reply, wry, and then add, to make it better: “admit it, Eq, you can’t handle me on every night basis.” 

“If life aboard the _Leviathan_ doesn’t suit you—“ 

“Shut up,” you scratch his unbroken horn with your teeth in retaliation and he goes still in your lap, gasping for breath. “I’m okay. Don’t fix what isn’t broken, right?” 

“I am your kismesis—“ 

“And I’m yours, so there. If I really needed an out, I’d tell you, but I like my life the way it is.” You sigh, fiddling with his hair some more, watching the strands slide through your claws thoughtfully. “Stop being a fucking worrywart, Eq, being melodramatic is my job.” 

You squeak a bit when he sits up and shifts to pull you into his lap. He likes being bigger than you, you think, and that you let him shift you about as he pleases when you’re alone like this. Your nook, still recovering from the absolute wrecking he just gave it, throbs with faint interest that you ignore, because the idiot is hugging you again and you can’t quite bring yourself to not let him. 

“You make me happy,” he admits, hoarse, and the smug grin falls from your face along with the smartass remark you were preparing for him. “It’s what I hate most about you, Eridan Ampora, that you have the nerve to make me happy.” 

You don’t have anything to say to that, so you cling to his neck and bask in the strange, solemn quiet in the block, because the alternative is to look hard and long at yourself and stumble upon a few realizations you’ve been skillfully avoiding for sweeps now. Equius saves you the trouble of coming up with an articulate reply, anyway, when he fucks you into the floor afterwards, and you’re left raw and tender, inside out, because of it. 

“Sometimes I’m really stupid about shit,” you say, more to yourself than to him, and smirk when he snorts, “but you wouldn’t hate me if I weren’t.” 

“No,” he sighs, hair blue to fit your whims, and lips tilted in a sated smile, “I suppose I wouldn’t.” 

“Besides, you’re even more stupid than me anyway.” 

He kisses the laughter out of your mouth, the absolute jerk. 

“I honestly doubt it.” 

You like your life, awkward mess of stupid mistakes it is, because somehow along the way, you collected people like him and Karkat and Psii and Russel and all your friends, and it balances it out, in the end. 

“You would, you hateful fuck.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [Askblog for this verse.](http://requisitionforms.tumblr.com/)


End file.
